Linda Griffiths and Eric Peterson in the 1980 production of Maggie and Pierre

In a culture starved of contemporary icons with personality and, dare we say it, a bit of glamour, it’s no wonder that Pierre Trudeau and Margaret Sinclair formed the inspiration for one of the country’s most successful theatrical productions of the 1980s. 

Co-written by Linda Griffiths and Paul Thompson, Maggie and Pierre chronicles the couple’s relationship, beginning with their first meeting in Tahiti when Margaret was only 19 years old, a free spirit born out of love, socialism, and a lot of dope. A marriage, a Governor’s Ball, an October crisis, a vote of non-confidence, three children and one divorce later, we’re in 1980–the year in which the play premiered. As Griffiths takes on triple duty as Margaret, Pierre, and a narrator of sorts in the political journalist Henry, the show straddles the innocent hope of the 1960s and the cynicism of the late 1970as. It captivated audiences of the time across Canada, even putting in a stint off-Broadway, and nabbed the first-ever Dora Awards for Outstanding New Production and Outstanding Performance by a Female.

Over thirty years after Maggie and Pierre‘s original run, a one-night-only presentation at Theatre Passe Muraille took place on Friday evening. It was the first installment in a two-night fundraiser for the theatre company called Dancing Without Mary, meant to recoup the losses from Mary Walsh’s canceled run of her one-woman show Dancing With Rage. Ending with tonight’s reading of the first draft of Michael Healey’s Proud, already infamous for a less-than-flattering portrayal of our current PM, all three shows share a dissatisfaction with the federal government and the figures who lead it.

It’s impossible to say what kind of tempered tornado Mary Walsh would have unleashed upon the Passe Muraille stage, and besides this excerpt, audiences are still waiting eagerly to hear what Proud has in store. But Maggie and Pierre has proven that satire works when there are a number of emotions in play. Henry acts as the voice of the audience, literally as a journalist and figuratively as he depicts Canada falling in love with what the couple represented, then despising them when they fail to live up to expectations. 

Maggie and Pierre has the distinct tone of the post-women’s-lib generation that chastised Margaret for not appreciating her post as the wife of a Prime Minister and role as a female in power. In 2012, it doesn’t have the bite it did in the early ‘80s, but for an audience that often wasn’t even born when the play opened, it presents the characters in a way that’s approachable yet multi-dimensional.  Margaret is a fish-out-of-water that plays Rolling Stones songs in her mind while meeting international leaders, but she grows smart and strong enough to understand the political scene, manipulate journalists with the ease of her husband, and decide for herself the kind of life she wants to lead. Pierre has been a leader since the age of three, a suave politician who captivates on the dancefloor (Griffiths actually stole a spin with Trudeau himself as she was writing the play), yet he sorrowfully admits when his less intelligent wife outmaneuvers his superior intellect.

Successive prime ministers haven’t been able to capture Trudeau’s charisma, but that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been enough news surrounding Stephen Harper to inspire theatrical productions like Proud or Dancing With Rage. The risk here is to compensate for a nondescript public persona with outrage over his actions which, as we’ve seen with several depictions of Rob Ford, might only end up garnering more sympathy than anything else.

Thirty years after its premiere, we can still learn from Griffiths and Thompson’s Maggie and Pierre–audiences want to listen to a sympathetic character, not a one-dimensional villain. You get more attention with a pirouette than with a downward-facing thumb.

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Carly Maga is an arts writer for Toronto Standard. Follow her on Twitter: @RadioMaga.